


Old Wounds

by Replica_of_Divinity



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fear of Abandonment, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Mental Illness, mild references to the original 1986 movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 16:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17450510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_of_Divinity/pseuds/Replica_of_Divinity
Summary: "Wait...I still function...""Wanna bet?"-recharge cycle interrupted. warning: mental stability deteriorating-





	Old Wounds

Cyclonus was only slightly surprised when the bizarre shape of Galvatron’s helm impacted with his back. His lord had been acting particularly… low spirited all day. Galvatron was usually a ball of vitriol and chaotic energy that burst at the seams when there was no definitive target in sight, but he seemed highly disinterested in everything. One might venture a guess and say that he was depressed or sulking, one might also then proceed to have their helm ripped off; so no one said anything.

Which of course, left Cyclonus to pick up the pieces.

Not that he would ever in any number of lifetimes complain about such a thing, nor publicly admit to the true reason behind that sentiment.

He turned, a smooth movement, limbs and wings shifting appropriately to accommodate for the awkwardly close distance that Galvatron refused to extend, “How may I assist you my lord?”

Galvatron did not answer, deep frown and troubled gaze remaining on the floor beneath their pedes. After a moment he did look up, and Cyclonus had the distinct sense of looking at the universe’s most dangerous kicked cyberpuppy. He also had the ridiculous and sudden urge to _hug_ Galvatron, which he quickly and mercilessly crushed; he would only give affections his lord requested, anything else was unacceptable.

When Cyclonus made no move to do anything though, Galvatron’s look grew to a true scowl and he butted his head into the Cyclonus' chest roughly.

Cyclonus was physically unmoved by the act, outweighing his lord by quiet an impressive amount, but he did blink somewhat dazedly, “My lord?” he questioned again more quietly.

The unholy scrape of metal against metal rang as Galvatron callously dragged his face up Cyclonus’ chest and then plonked his chin on top of it, jutting it out in a rather childish display of agitation. After his audials stopped ringing and his sensors stopped screaming at him, Cyclonus looked back down at Galvatron who glared up at him, unwavering.

With little to work with he sighed, even probing their oft dulled bond got him nothing, “…Shall I carry you back to our room my lord?”

Galvatron snarled, fangs bared, “The lord of the Decepticons would **_never_** request something so degrading!”

Despite the obvious lash of agitation in Galvatron’s field, and the distorted expression, his anger fizzled quickly and his tone didn’t hold its usual volume or volatile edge. So Cyclonus waited a moment, patient as a mountain, until finally Galvatron averted his gaze away from the rest of the room and lifted his arms slightly. Cyclonus stooped and slipped an arm around Galvatron’s waist and another under his thighs, lifting him easily.

He winced as Galvatron’s claws dug into his shoulders and back plating, his legs wrapping around Cyclonus’ hips in a death grip; but frankly the minor discomfort was worth it for the almost immediate difference in his lord’s field. Sparing only a moment to glare threateningly at any mech who had dared to watch that exchange, Cyclonus then swiftly left the command center and moved to the residential area of their makeshift base.

When at last they were alone, and he made to deposit Galvatron onto their berth, Galvatron merely clung tighter. A bizarre spike of anxiety rippled throughout his filed and Cyclonus instinctively flared his wings, despite _knowing_ there was no immediate threat to ward off.

He paused, cycling a soothing vent before whispering, “My lord?”

_“Don’t go.”_

Galvatron’s voice was so painfully small and quiet that Cyclonus’ field bristled once more, plating fluffing as he managed to maneuver them into a position on the berth where he all but completely smothered Galvatron under his own frame.

“I am _not_ going anywhere my lord…” Cyclonus’ spark burned with such acidic resentment he thought it might melt a hole in his plating, **_“I will not leave you.”_**

****

_Like them_

Galvatron clung tighter, claws digging painful furrows into Cyclonus’ armor, but he didn’t care about the damage; he would allow Galvatron to _disembowel_ _him_ if there was even a slim chance of it bringing his lord solace.

_“I still function.”_ Galvatron growled, but the anger in his voice was distorted by static, and the whine of his jaw as he clenched his denta together, “I am not **_broken._** ”

“No, you are not broken Galvatron…” Cyclonus pulled back enough so that they could lock optics,  _“…you are perfect.”_

_No matter what anyone else thinks; no matter how you feel_

Cyclonus stretched out a clawed digit and brushed it under Galvatron’s optic until the firm set of his jaw went slack and his optics flickered off; Galvatron’s expression resettled into a disquieted frown but he tilted his chin up in invitation.

Cyclonus dipped and pressed a gentle lingering kiss to Galvatron’s lips, and then soft pecks all along his high cheeks and strong jaw; until ever so slowly Galvatron’s grip weakened to something less desperate. He moved his arms to hook _under_ Cyclonus’, and pulled gently, keeping them chest to chest as he nuzzled up Cyclonus’ throat and then nipped at the underside of his chin.

“Stay like this.” He muttered quietly, his voice already fading with his need for recharge.

“As you wish.” Cyclonus whispered, biting carefully into the prominent horn atop Galvatron’s helm, pleased when Galvatron’s engine rumbled approvingly.

Hunkering down over Galvatron’s smaller form once more, Cyclonus nuzzled his face against Galvatron’s helm, flaring his wings wide before offlining his optics; hoping the night would take his Conjunx’s insecurities and torments with it.


End file.
